The Life and Death of a Mob Boss
by YourDarkMistress
Summary: In 1906, Odin adopts an unusually pale, unusually intelligent Sicilian child. Loki is a darling boy, but something about him is distinctly deviant. Mischief and intelligence do not a complacent child make, and soon Loki finds himself in a dark world of lies and deception, a world he grows far too fond of. His brother follows him, and together the name of Odinson falls from grace.
1. Prologue

**A/N:**Wow. I've been working on this first period for about a week now and figured I might as well post it. The first arc is done (I forsee three plus an epilogue) as well as two chapters of the second. I apologize in advance if I offend anyone for any reason, and I likely will. I tried to make Odin sound like a likeable racist asshole, sort of like Tom Buchanan from the Great Gatsby. I'm also probably gonna use some derogatory terms for different kinds of people. I'm desensitized to them, but I don't think everyone else is. Most of the Italian will be intentionally wrong, too, or spelled wrong at least. Additionally, this is not likely to be all too descriptive or realistic when it comes to the Italian Mafia, simply because I don't feel like going into the inner workings of the system. Enjoy!

**Part One: Birth**

**Baby Joe had arrived as an illegal immigrant on a boat**

**Like all the immigrants – the Irish and Italians – on Ellis Island in 1920**

**Accompanied by a Sicilian great-uncle and protected by his' own**

**Heir of a notorious Mafioso, Joe, your destiny was preordained by the Black Hand**

**Joe, you will be the Barron, you will be the Godfather, of the whole Italian District**

**But Joe, you will spend your whole life in Little Italy and you will die there too**

**Prologue**

**March, 1906**

He was pale for a Sicilian. Odin couldn't help but marvel at his luck.

One son born a bastard, wife infertile. Really, adoption was the best option. It was luck that brought him the pale Italian, hair greased back, lips pink and cheeks white as snow. Sicilians, he knew, were often dark. Exclusively dark. This one must have been of mixed blood, and though Odin always frowned on intercourse between the races, he couldn't help but marvel at what such an ill-conceived act created for him.

He came with a name. Chiaro Serrare Luciano. It was cute for one so small, but the type of name one would grow out of and resent later in life. The boy's trousers were held up by a belt far too big, his sleeves rolled up as far as possible, pushed over his elbows and tightened snugly. His shoes seemed to be too small, if the way his toes poked out the worn edges were any indication. It all added up to a rather adorable picture.

His records said he was four, but Sicilian records were known to be wrong. He could be three, four, five, or even six, but he was small and Odin thought it best to keep the number as it was. He would get to start school at the proper age this way, get a proper education, and leave just enough time in between for Odin to teach him the proper ways of society.

But of course, he could not remain Chiaro Serrare Lucciano. He was an Odinson by law, and Chiaro Serrare Odinson just didn't sound right. Odin remembered the stories from his youth, stories told by his father of his long-deceased uncle, Loki Utgard, a man of great presence and even greater humor. And so, Loki Odinson was born, a proper American boy with a proper American name. Of course, he didn't speak any English, but who did at first? Learning how to play is half of the game, after all.

Frigga fell in love before the boy had a chance to part his pinkish lips and mutter 'boungiorno'. His little face, bright green eyes, porcelain skin, and oversized clothing marked him as in terrible need of a mother and God knew how Frigga wanted a boy of her own, one she didn't have to share with another woman (even if she was dead). She pressed kisses to his face and his little nose scrunched up unhappily.

"What's his name?" She asked her husband before turning to the child. "_Come ti chiami_?"

"Chiaro Luciano." He said softly before Odin placed a heavy palm on his shoulder. The child looked up to his new father and saw the disapproval there. He didn't need to speak English to understand that he had done something wrong. The nice lady at the desk had told him – in very broken Sicilian – that he had a new name now. He repeated it back to the woman who seemed so unusually fond of him. "Loki Odìnsonne."

Frigga smiled, eyes darting between her husband and their new son. Yes, all would be well in the world. With enough time, anything could be made well.

One could take the boy out of Sicily, but it would prove impossible to take Sicily out of the boy.


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Yeah, these chapters are going to be consistantly short. I hope you don't mind! 'Tis the price of fast updates, I'm afraid.

**Chapter 1**

Thor had never been happier than he was with his new little brother. At seven, nearly everyone in his classes had siblings, and Thor felt left out. He had never _not_ had something everyone else had before, and now he had that something. It felt wonderful.

It was strange though. The boy was odd. His words were garbled and confused – Mommy and Father had told him that it was because his little brother spoke Sicilian and Italian, but not English. Thor thought that was silly; why would anyone bother speaking another language if they would just have to translate it back to English in their heads?

But the child proved to be an amiable companion, despite the language barrier. His brother – Loki, mommy called him – followed him wherever he went, hands in his pockets as if to keep them from falling despite the fact that they fit him just fine.

But when Thor told Loki to run around to that other side of the building and stop Fandral there (it had been a very intense game of tag) and Loki simply stared at him, Thor decided that enough was enough. He would sit down and teach Loki how to speak properly if it was the last thing he ever did.

They sat on the floor in Thor's bedroom, nursing the bruises from their lost game, and Thor took Loki's hands in his.

He decided to start with the important things.

"Brother." He said clearly, his little chin high. "Bruh-ther"

Loki stared blankly. Thor squeezed the small hands and repeated himself. Loki chapped his lips before responding: "Mano."

Thor recognized that word, and it wasn't brother. Mommy would reach for the baby and say "_Tenere mio mano_" and the baby would hesitantly take her hand before crossing streets.

He shook his head, this time tapping his own chest. "Brother. You are my brother."

"_Mangiare_."

That wasn't right either. Mommy would use that one to let Loki know when it was time to eat. "No, no, no." Thor patted his chest, then placed the hand on Loki's right over his chest. "Brother. You're my brother. We get to be brothers. Come now, you're not as daft as you're pretending."

For a moment, Loki stared absently. Then he blinked as if clearing a smokescreen from his eyes. "Ragazzo." They widened. "Fratello."

Now, Thor didn't know what a ragatso or a fratelo was, but he smiled nonetheless. "Very good. Now, can you say 'Thor'?"

And so the day progressed. Little by little, Loki – swift for one so small – picked up bits of language and grammar, and by the end of the day, _boungiorno_ was confidently replaced with _hello _and _sono_ with _I _(and what a fun lesson that was. Thor found it even more difficult to communicate abstract ideas than the simple truth of their brotherhood).

Why, by the end of the week, Loki would be speaking proper English after all!

At dinner, Thor goaded Loki into revealing his newfound skills. He held the butter until Loki pled "_Per favore_, brother!" which sent their parents into an excited tizzy. Mommy cuddled Loki, making him giggle uncharacteristically, while Father patted his eldest on the shoulder, silently praising him for his hard work.

Loki got a soft, sweet candy for his efforts, which was all well and good considering how little Loki ate as it was. He greedily stuffed it between his lips, the tiny corners turning upwards as the sugary saliva slipped down his throat.

Both boys went to sleep satisfied that night. Thor dreamt of the man his brother would become. Loki dreamt of all the candies he could eat.

**Read and review please!**


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: ****My God, two updates in two days? The world must be ending! But seriously, I wanted to spread this out a little, so I write a chapter for each chapter I post, but I had time today and I edited the chapter, so I felt bad not posting it. I'm a little uneasy about this chapter as it is, mostly because it seems disjointed. However, I don't know what to replace it with, nor do I have the will to do so, so yeah. Next chapter is when things start getting poignant. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Next update will be either Friday or Saturday. **

**Chapter 2**

It was a challenge to make the little Sicilian into a presentable son of Odin. His hair was knotty and dark, his skin dry from hours in the sun and the harsh spray of salt. He had dirt under his ragged nails and splotches of God-only-knew-what soldered into his skin and Frigga was unsure she'd be able to do it. But, thankfully, children are washable, and not even her new, beautiful, exotic baby boy was exempt from that rule.

He squirmed even more than Thor had at that age, though in silence, as if his voice would shatter some unspoken treaty and the whole world would collapse around him if he uttered even a moan. He didn't like the water, he didn't like the soap, and he most certainly did not appreciate the man-handling. Though he fought with all his might, Frigga had raised Thor and seven years of pinning a wriggling, writhing blond into the tub had made her a master.

So Loki was bathed and groomed, every crevice of him lathered, scrubbed, rinsed, dried, and softened with lotions, oils, and powders. But while he did look precious stream-flushed and wrapped in a towel, he did not look like a son of Odin.

(He certainly didn't eat like one. He hardly ate at all, even when his stomach moaned and churned in emptiness. It frustrated Odin and Frigga more than it did Thor, who would slip his bread away from the table and split it with Loki later. Frigga would have wrapped him raw if she didn't know that those scraps of bread were likely all Loki ate aside from his own slice, which disappeared so quickly at meal times that Frigga couldn't be sure if he ate it at all. He ate the sweets too, of course, and sometimes bits of cheese, but his meat, fish, and vegetables were always left forlorn and dejected.)

Frigga thought that maybe it was the clothes. Naked, most anyone can look like a barbarian, especially a child from Sicily, and perhaps all the boy needed was a good cardigan and a pair of proper pants.

They took him to the tailor (he squirmed there too) and fitted him with the finest clothes money could buy. She parted his hair off-center and combed it straight, leaving a little bit at the front to curl as it pleased. His cheeks flushed, his lips pulled together in a pout, and though he appeared as affluent and proper as his new family, he didn't seem to fit quite right.

He developed Survival English rather quickly, as children are wont to do. It was broken and imperfect but it got the point across, and Odin assured her that school would fix his silly (endearing) accent and calm his turbulent soul.

Thor had done that well enough already; Loki could be found wherever Thor was nearly all the time. He idolized his older brother, and Thor loved Loki with as much vehemence. He was protective to the point of violence, and the neighborhood boys – Thor's own friends, even – had grown afraid of crossing him.

Loki didn't look any more an Odinson in his school uniform. He looked stuffy and uncomfortable in his finely-pressed suit jacket and tie. His cheeks, though pale for one of his breeding, were demurely rosy, his nose too rounded, his face too sharp to appear the child of Odin he attempted to be. He had a silly (endearing) accent that the other boys longed to taunt him over, but the threat of Thor hung angrily over their heads. The brute had broken bones before, and then he hardly had reason to.

It was a fledgling family with fledgling bonds, but family – even fledgling family – is something dangerously powerful. Frigga did not see the danger in this power, only the bliss it brought her and hers.

There is another word for bliss.

It is ignorance.

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	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: Here's chapter 3. Things start getting interesting. Please drop a review and let me know what you think - I'm writing chapter 10 right now, so I wont be able to go where you want this to go if you don't put in your two-cents now :P Anyway, hope you enjoy!**

**Chapter 3**

Loki knew that he was practically a baby, but he thought himself more intelligent than the other babies in his class.

He did quite enjoy living with Thor's Mama and Papa – his Mama and Papa, because they were brothers and brothers got to share Mamas and Papas – but sometimes they treated him like he was _stupid _just because he didn't speak their language as well as they would have liked. The words were just so _strange _and tasted funny on his tongue. He rather liked some of them, like _brother _and _omniscient _and _buffoon. _They were fun to say, had sound combinations uncommon in Sicilian and Italian. But some times it made almost no sense. Tenses made absolutely no sense at all!

His poor fluency landed him in remedial classes, surrounded with stupid little boys and stupid little girls with funny faces and dead eyes. Loki tried telling Mama and Papa that he didn't like being around so much collective idiocy, but he just couldn't get his point across. Mama knew a little Italian, but Papa said it was wrong to encourage his speaking it, so she pretended not to hear his insistent babble when he forgot himself and fell back into his native tongue. Loki went to his room and cried until Thor found him and wrapped him in his big, warm arms and pressed kisses into his hair. Papa said that kissing was for babies and little girls, but Loki was still a baby and, well, so long as he didn't find out, everything would be just fine, wouldn't it?

When he stopped crying, he tried to tell Thor what was wrong. By the look on his face, Loki could tell that he had communicated the words that he meant to, but not the feelings. Thor could see the problem, but he couldn't understand it. And _that_ was the problem.

Back in _Girgenti, _he had to do everything himself. He had to feed himself, he had to clothe himself, he had to clean himself and most importantly, he had to protect himself. There were a whole lot of ways for one to protect himself, and Loki had learned that nobody – nobody – messes with a cute little boy with a sharp tongue. He had taught himself Italian when it became clear that the tourists and important people spoke it, and the tourists and important people would give him more money than the Sicilians, certainly more than anyone from _Girgenti_.

And when the orphanage found him, he learned how to smile real sweet, even when it hurt, and how to lie real well, so he never got in trouble for stealing extra dinner. He did all that on his own. He thought that made him rather smart. But smart meant something different in English than it did in Sicilian and Italian, so he would have to learn English if he wanted to be smart. Learn English well. Learn English fast.

He bade his time in the class full of stupid-faced, wonky-eyed babies. He didn't learn as fast as he would have liked (Italian and Sicilian were almost the same; English was just so weird and different), but he did learn.

It was through learning his new language that he met the woman who would direct him down the path he was destined to walk.

Red-hair, pale skin, beautiful blue eyes. The daughter of a pair of a poor (dead) Italian-American family, adopted into affluence.

Virginia Procacci.

Well, that was her Italian name, at least. She too had been given a new one by the lady at the desk. She said she didn't like it. American names had funny endings she said. Loki couldn't help but agree. _Luciano_ rolled so much more fluently that Odinson (and he still said _Odìnsonne_, because it was prettier) and _Procacci_ was much nicer than Potts.

"At least," He digressed to her in Italian, as she didn't speak any Sicilian and he rather missed the languages he was raised on. "You got to keep Virginia. I don't get to be _Chiaro_ anymore."

"Loki is cute," she reminded him softly, cupping a hand over his. She was Thor's age, but she didn't know him. She wouldn't have dared touch him if she did. "If I had to pick a name for you, I would pick Loki over _Chiaro_."

Loki blinked. His cheeks reddened, as they were wont to do in Pepper's presence. "Would you?"

"Of course. It fits you better." She took his pencil from him and drew circles in her notebook. It was filled with English letters and English words. She knew more English than Loki, but Loki's handwriting was nicer. His handwriting was better than Thor's too. Mama said that was because Loki had advanced fine motor skills, whatever those were. "Chiaro…you are a bright little boy, indeed," She ruffled his hair. "But you're not Bright. Loki was a trickster, a liar, and a thief, and very, very, bright. But not in the way Chiaro is bright. Chiaro shines, Loki thinks.

Loki bit his upper lip. He didn't quite understand. He was only a baby, after all.

It was then that he first postulated that perhaps there were two parts to him. Both were bright, but in very different ways.

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	5. Chapter 4

**A/N: Whoo! New chapter! I'm just getting over being horribly ill, so if the editing is a little shaky, that's why. Also, this was written on Thanksgiving, which explains the copious references to food. Please drop a review and tell me what you think! **

**Chapter 4 **

Odin couldn't understand why the boy wasn't eating.

He seemed to adjust well enough. He and Thor were closer than Odin could have ever hoped, he had endeared himself to Frigga almost instantly, and Odin himself found himself growing fond of the child. But if he didn't start eating, there wouldn't be any child to be fond of.

He had been skinny when he arrived, but not morbidly so. The Sicilians, fed their poor, apparently, as the doctor had given him a clean bill of health. Now, however, he looked malnourished. His teachers said he wasn't eating, and while they suspected it was from some deeper psychological disorder, Odin knew better. The boy was smart, too smart to allow himself to starve. There was nothing wrong with him other than his aversion to food.

But Loki didn't really avoid food, Odin later found.

He pulled his eldest to the side, placed a hand on his shoulder, and asked him flat-out if Loki ever ate. Thor nodded vigorously.

"I have never seen someone eat with such gusto, Father!" He insisted. "When he finds something he finds palatable, one must get out of the way lest he be taken into his mouth along with it!"

Odin frowned. "Why then do his teachers tell me he does not eat lunch? And why does he eat only bread and cakes at home?"

The child tapped a finger against his chin, tapped lightly, then widened his eyes. "He does not like the food we present him, Father. He told me once, that we eat such strange things."

"That is ridiculous. We eat only the best in this household. You go to the best school in the state. What more could he ask for?"

In the moment that followed, the first son of Odin made Odin himself feel like a child. "Father, he is not from here. Perhaps he grew up on different foods, and he does not find what we eat to be appetizing. If someone were to drop me in the streets of Sicily, I'm sure I would have a hard time stomaching the foods as well."

They sat together in silence for a moment before Odin pulled his son onto his lap. Thor laughed quietly and wrapped his arms around his father's broad chest. "We shall find something better for him to eat, then," Odin said softly. "Would you like to come with me, child?"

And so the day went. Odin's family was maternally Germanic and paternally Scandinavian, so he was quite unfamiliar with the foods of the Mediterranean.

He wound up with baskets of crisp semolina bread and tomatoes and olives, all foods he scorned as un-American and improper.

But Loki ate them.

Odin left the bread outside of the breadbox, left the olives in jars in the pantry, left the tomatoes in a bowl on the counter. Sure enough, each disappeared in turn, until Odin was making another trip to the open market down the block for more.

Color flooded Loki's cheeks. His face rounded, his legs fattened, he _grew._

But still he would not eat like a proper American.

Odin spoke to his wife about it.

"When he's grown a bit more, dear. He's sprouted since he started eating. We'll wean him onto normal food just as soon as we're sure he won't wilt."

Odin was not too fond of this idea – it stood only to hinder the child's assimilation – but he was not one to argue with his wife, especially considering it was her job to know such things about children.

It was in Odin's good fortune, then, that Loki's first Thanksgiving stood to cure him of his food aversion altogether. Odin was unsure if it was the cornbread or green beans or Loki's simple frustration over his limited diet that made it happen, but Loki ate more on that day than Odin had seen before all together.

The child wore a funny expression as he chewed the roasted turkey and gravy, but Odin smiled. It wouldn't be long before his family – the impossible ideal his father had encouraged him not to pursue – would be perfect.

**Review please!**


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: I know I said I would post a chapter for every completed chapter, but here I'm going to have to go back on my word a little. I'm going to Chicago for Model UN this weekend, so I'll be without internet for five days, starting tomorrow morning. This is getting posted today to hold you over! I hope it's up to snuff and I hope you all enjoy!**

**Chapter 5 **

Loki only ate because Virginia said he should.

"Your parents will worry," she said to him one day as they reviewed the proper (and confusing) conjugations of the verb 'to lay'. "I know you feel you get all you need from what you eat, but look at how skinny you are! Do you want to be picked on?"

Loki blushed. "No."

"Then eat. This week is Thanksgiving; you should start then."

"What's Thanksgiving?"

"A feast that we have every year to celebrate that we're all alive and have something to be thankful for. But it's mostly a feast." Loki looked skeptical. "I'm sure Thor would like to see you eat as well. He worries constantly." Virginia and Thor had met, but Thor didn't scare her away and for that Loki was greatful.

Loki did start eating and Thor was very pleased. He carried Loki around on his back for days afterwards, proudly telling the world how fond of his brother he was, how much he loved him, how well he was adapting. Loki didn't like the words but he adored the attention.

It was not long after that Loki could begin to feel himself growing stronger. He could keep up with the other kids, he could climb trees, he could stand his ground! He was king of everything! Of the whole cul-de-sac! He had never been happier. Not even before his first Mama died. Not even before his first Papa left and he had a first Mama and a first Papa together!

Virginia found he and Thor playing aeroplane in the backyard. Thor was the Aeroplane and Loki the pilot. Virginia had brought a friend. He was a little older than her and certainly less friendly. "Loki, Thor, this is Happy, my neighbor. Happy, this is Loki and Thor Odinson." Happy grunted in response. His brow ridge jutted out painfully from his face, shadoing his eyes in a way that made him look most unintelligent. "Happy is going to take us to the ghettos today."

Thor's nose scrunched up. Loki didn't know what a ghetto was, but if it made Thor scrunch his nose like that, it couldn't be too great. "Father wouldn't like us going there."

"We're not going too far in. Just to Cerrera's and back. Daddy gave me my birthday money early so I can take my friends out to eat. I want to take you guys to Cerrera's."

The ghetto, it turned out, was only a few blocks down from their home. The city was big, and was thus a hub for immigrants like Loki, save they were considerably less fortunate than he. Loki was assaulted from all sides by sensory overload. The smells, the sights, the sounds…it reminded him so much of _Girgenti _ but it wasn't, and that was the best part.

Loki was surrounded by his own language, and he would have laughed if not for the look on Thor's face. He looked confused and that made Loki confused. What was there to be confused about?

He didn't ponder it further as Virginia walked into the restaurant and was greeted by a corpulent man with a wide eyes and a big smile. "_Pepe, it is so good to see you!_" The man exclaimed. It was nice to hear his language from the mouth of a man again.

"_You too, Antonio. How is Maria_?"

The man, Antonio, frowned. "_Eh, not so good. She's trying, I know. She is. Maybe she'll get better. Maybe she won't. The boys' are in shambles, but eh, what can we do?_"

"_I'm sorry. I hope she gets better. For Nino's sake_." Antonio dismissed her with a shrug, then turned questioningly to her company. "Oh, right. Antonio, these are my friends Happy, Loki, and Thor."

Antonio nodded his head and introduced himself in heavily-accented (but not broken) English. "How-do-you-do, children?"

Virginia turned to her friends. "This is Antonio Cerrera, he owns this resturant."

"Hello." Thor muttered uncomfortably. Happy said nothing.

Loki, however, smiled and extended his tiny hand. "_Boungiorno, signore. Sono _Loki."

Antonio's eyes widened. "Loki is an unusual name for a _guinea_." Thor cringed. Loki couldn't understand why.

"I'm Sicilian."

"_Ginzo_ then. Your Italian is good, though."

"The adults speaked Italian to me. And Virginia."

Antonio smirked but said nothing else. He led the children to a table in the corner and took Virginia's money without taking their orders.

"I don't like this place." Thor grumbled. "Father wouldn't like us here."

"Come now, brother," Loki sighed, placing a hand on Thor's shoulder. "It's Virginia's birthday party. And we didn' brake no rules."

Thor sighed but said nothing else.

Mostly because the food was fantastic.

** R&R!**


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N: Ohmygosh, it feel like forever since I posted anything! I got back from Chicago on Monday then had so much work to make up that I only got about 2 hours a day since then. I'm still pretty beat, but I'd rather do this than make up my physics work. God, I hate physics. Anyway, here's chapter **6. This is the shortest chapter so far, I think, and the last one before part two. So there'll be an update either tomorrow or Tuesday, depending on how much homework I get tomorrow. But not Wednesday because of Finals. Christmas break starts Friday, so update shall be forthcomming from then foward!

**Chapter 6 **

Thor was sworn to secrecy on the condition that Loki never go back to Cerrera's. Loki was happy to oblige, though he had no intention of keeping to his brother's wishes, and Thor knew this better than anyone. Loki would do what he wanted. He was just a baby, but he was a strong, hard-headed baby. He was crafty, he was smart, and one day he would be big and strong too, and he wouldn't need Thor to protect him. Thor didn't like that idea, not at all, but he knew it was more than just an idea.

Young and naïve as he was, Thor had grown to understand his brother. At least, he thought he had. What he failed to notice, however, was Loki's unyielding desire for attention. Affection. Nothing he could have said or done – not even if it had led Loki beneath their father's hand – could have turned the child away from his brother. Nothing at all.

Years turned like seasons; swiftly, delicately, gracefully. Loki grew into a fine, clever young man. He worked his way out of remedial classes by the next year, to his eternal pleasure. No more wonky eyes! No more stupid faces! Language became his profession, even at the tender age of eight. He could wind words into saccharine or poison if he so desired, rising the weak from their places in the dirt or striking into the kneecap and forcing men to taste his own waste.

As Thor had protected him as a babe from the heavy fists of the cruel, Loki now protected Thor from unfriendly remarks and damming blackmail. Together they were unstoppable. They would remain unstoppable for years to come, well into their adulthoods, as business grew dangerous and profits lucrative.

**R&R please! **


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N: Yay! Part two! We get in to the fun stuff now. Well, I find it fun, but I'm known to have a slightly demented sense of what is and is not "fun". So yeah; here ya go! I'm now behind in writing a chapter - I've only got five in stock. Grrr. So another update can be expected over the weekend, as I have eleven loaves of banana bread to bake over the next two days and four midterms to study for. Wish me luck! **

* * *

**Part 2: Rise **

** At eight you committed your first petty thefts, in the streets at all of the local shops At twelve, you were a part of the heavies; your gang had rejoined the Family At fourteen you took care of the bookmakers' bets, you kicked bad debtors' asses At eighteen you became the official second of the old Don Fernando de la Muerte The following year, when his old heart failed him, you became the lord of his Duchy**

**Hey Joe, you are the Barron, you are the Godfather of the whole Italian District.**

** But Joe, you will spend your whole life in Little Italy and you will die here too**.

* * *

**Chapter 7**

Loki was caught, once.

It hadn't been his fault, really. Well, that is a lie. He had told his father about it, which, in hindsight, was an incredibly stupid idea. What father would react positively to the knowledge that his youngest was a pickpocket and a thief? No decent American father, at least.

He had been five, or what Odin assumed to be around five. He had been denied an apple at the market. It was just an apple, a shiny red apple, and he had been hungry. So, as he had for most of his life, he took it.

He told his father so. It landed him a tanned behind.

Before and after, Odin lectured him on fidelity to morals.

"One does not steal things when he can afford to buy them, and even then only if he must to feed his family."

Loki nodded and wiped the tears from his eyes. "Yes Father."

"Never let me catch you doing anything like that ever again, do you hear me boy? Do you hear me?!"

"Yes, Father."

It was perhaps the greatest lesson Loki ever learned. Odin never did catch him again.

But that is not to say that he stopped.

By six, he had a small horde of stolen toys, taken from the desks of the schoolchildren. He didn't take them out of malice or even because he wanted them, but because he could and nobody would know it was him (or if they did, they were too afraid of him or Thor or both to do anything about it). He had a collection of coins he swiped off of men and maids out in the streets. He had piles of scraps of paper stolen from the pockets of rich businessmen who came to visit his Papa. These things were hidden well, in a hole in the tree he would often climb with Thor.

Thor knew of his treasures. He knew Loki was a thief, but he paid it no mind. He feared loosing his brother more than anything else. And secretly he envied his brother for his lithe build, cleverness, and sticky fingers.

At seven, he stole his lunches from the street vendors. An apple from one cart, a loaf of bread from another. Always from the Italian market in the ghetto, because they would never call the police or his father (if they even knew who he was). He stole for Thor, too, who would eat his bread with guilt and guile, especially when Loki demanded he toss out the lunch Mother packed for him ("If you get fat, she'll know we're eating more than our share. Come now, brother, don't be such a lilywhite).

Eight was the pivotal point though. Virginia found out about his destructive streak and knew no good would come of such undirected mischief. Virginia did not tell his father, no, but she pulled Loki aside and spoke to him quietly.

"One day you will get caught, Loki, and it worries me. Right now, your name will save you, but later, when you aren't a little boy anymore? Odinson will be nothing but a stigma. You will ruin yourself and your family!"

"I won't get caught, Pepe. And I don't take much from anyone. Some of the shopkeepers think its cute."

It was true. Those who had seen him and winked and passed him sweets.

"You will get caught, Loki! And then what? Or, what if you don't? You won't want to be a thief forever, you'll try houses or shops and then you'll have to spend your whole life in jail waiting to be hanged!"

Loki's nose furrowed, but Virginia could tell that nothing she said was making an impression.

"Look, my parents wouldn't want me to tell you, but there's a…group that I think can help you."

"Group?"

"Organization, then. People who can give you better things to do. I promise! Look, you know, some of the boys in my grade help out with them and I promise you won't ever, ever get caught."

The boy seemed to consider. "What about my father? What about Thor?"

"Odin will never know. And Thor…I don't know." She took his hands in hers and smiled softly. She brushed a loose hair away from his face. "But it would be good for you."

A bright red blush rose to Loki's cheeks and he tried to shake it away. "Alright, Pepe. If you say so."

And so, Loki Odinson met _Don Laufey de la Mastodonte_.

**Please tell me what you think! I crave the feedbacks O_O**


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N: I am a liar. A dirty rotten liar. I'm so sorry. Winter break started, we went to South Carolina to visit family, and I forgot my flash drive. not that I would have had the energy to update even if I had with all the family shit I had to deal with. Do yourselves a favor and think genetics when choosing a mate. Cyctic fibrosis, antisocial personality disorder, and whole bunches of delicous little problems are lurking right beneath the surface of most potential partners. but anyway, I really like this chapter. Its a bit more dynamic than the rest and sets some foundation for the rest of it. Hope you enjoy!**

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**Chapter 8 **

Odin had never been so pleased with either of his sons. Thor was a little deviant, true, constantly getting himself in trouble at school, but he was well-liked, charismatic, and a commendable baseball player. Loki was top in his class, quiet, reserved, and more American than any boy he had ever met, despite his various classes in Italian language and literature.

It had been almost five years since little Loki had joined their family, five years since everything went right. Odin, in his amiable, giving mood, decided that it was time to celebrate. They would go out to dinner, someplace nice, someplace foreign, someplace unexpected.

They were to walk to the Chinese ghetto for pork bao, a delicacy Odin had tasted only once on his trip to the orient. It had been decades, but the taste had stayed with him, and Odin thought it a treat to take his sons for the food that had so preoccupied his mind for such a long time.

Of course, he was far too proud a man to admit when they were lost.

Somehow, they wound up in the Italian Ghetto, a dangerous place for white men. The Italians – usually a jovial, unindustrious people – stopped and stared at the tall white man in a suit with his wife and two children. He felt Thor press into his side, something the boy had not done since his toddling years.

Odin thought it best to diverge from the main roads to the alleys, perhaps to avoid the unwanted eyes of the envious Italian rabble. He kept a hand on his son's shoulder and a hand on his wallet.

"Calm down, brother. We've nothing to fear," Loki chastised softly, taking his brother's hand. No sooner had Thor let go of his father's pant leg than did his mother let out a soft squeal.

The man behind her held her by the neck, something small and sharp planted firmly at the small of her back.

Odin gasped and moved towards her, his old army training kicking in, but the man made a 'tsking' noise and pushed the knife against his wife's back, eliciting a muffled scream.

"Corporate giant no belong in backstreets, no? What say you give me wallet, I give you _puttana_?"

As Odin prepared a scathing reply, as he prepared to break the man's neck and pull his brain out through his ears, a small trill of speech came from behind him. The man's guard lowered, but not enough to make him vulnerable. "Che?" He called back.

And Loki – tiny little Loki, hardly more than a baby – stepped forward.

"_Chi lavora, stronzo_?"

The man's mouth moved up and down but produced no sound. No doubt he was shocked that the son of a company man spoke his language so well.

"_Fatti tuoi, ragazzo_!"

And then Loki took off, his voice growing louder and angrier as he spoke. He stepped closer to the offending man and the man stepped back, pulling Frigga with him. Now Loki was close enough to hit him, and his voice made him seem big enough to do it.

Odin had never seen the boy more Sicilian than he was in those moments. Italians were known to be loud and motive, Sicilians doubly so, and Loki spoke more with his hands than he did with his voice. The man could only stutter in reply, his expression changing from annoyed to confused to downright terrified in the course of thirty seconds.

He let go of Frigga.

Loki stepped closer, gesticulating wildly, the middle finger and thumb of his left hand always touching.

He dropped the knife.

Loki took one more step and the man was off, running with all he had, his prize and his weapon forgotten.

Odin turned to his wife, who had fallen to the floor weeping, and it was a while before he considered the display his youngest put on.

"That was very brave of you, my son," he told him that night, after Frigga had finally fallen asleep, after Thor had been dismissed to his room, after Odin's heart had calmed and his temper had waned enough to allow a civil conversation with his son. "But foolish and dangerous. I will not see you do such a thing again, do you hear me?"

The boy looked down in what Odin knew to be mock-shame, and answered with a soft "Yes, Father."

They sat in silence in the den for a few moments before Odin's curiosity got the better of him. "What did you say to the boy to make him run? You are but a small, unarmed child. Your teachers have told me you craft words as Austen or Dickens, but I was unaware your skill was so…profound."

To this, Loki responded with a shy smile. "I simply reminded him that those in the ghetto are never their own bosses, and that perhaps he should not do something he would later regret. I have learned much from my teachers, Father, and much from you about how to twist words to suit my bidding."

Odin couldn't be sure what was a lie and what was truth. He knew he should probably have been angrier, or more suspicious, but Odin couldn't help but be _proud_ of his adopted son, _proud_ that he spoke Italian, _proud _that he was foreign born, _proud_ that he was different.

And for that Odin began to hate him. A tiny, embarrassing hate that made the great entrepreneur want to curl into a ball and die. He hated Loki – but only with a tiny embarrassing hate! – because he made him proud of his _foreignness_. He couldn't face the boy now, not ever, not anymore. It was one big contorted ball of confusion, hate, embarrassment, and self-loathing that kept Odin's mouth shut.

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**A/N: So, whatcha think? Please review ^_^ I really appreciate it.**


	10. Chapter 9

**A/N: New chapter! Yay! School picks up again tomorrow, not sure if I should promise slower or faster updates. Technically, this update shouldn't even come; I should be working on my laureate or homework or something, but I think its already been established that I'm an awful person, so yeah. Blame Skyrim. Also, fair warning, this chapter has some words in it. Not sure if they should push the raiting up. Also some pretty violent ideas are, er, _discussed. _Dunno if that should push it up either.**

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**Chapter 9**

Loki relived the experience.

~ "Corporate giant no belong in backstreets, no? What say you give me wallet, I give you _whore_?"

Odin, of course. He wasn't a corporate giant, per say, but he was large. _Puttanna_. Whore. Harlot. Derogatory term for woman, addressed at Mother.

Loki steps forward.

_"Hey bastard, who do you work for?" _

Quiet, detached. Clear, threatening tone.

_"…what?"_

Expected response. Reply by repetition.

_"Who do you work for, asshole?" _

_"Mind your own business, boy!" _

The game begins.

_"My own business? You have my mother at knifepoint. _

Truth. There is a knife against the small of Mother's back. Mother is scared. Loki is small. Assailant is large. Thor will be of no use. Words can be sharper than knives.

_"I think that makes this my business. Don't think I can't tell from your clothes. Baggy, grey, and do I see a tattoo on your neck? Laufey would never allow that."_

Truth. Laufey was half-and-half, and the Jew in him was what kept standards so high.

_" And family would never hurt family's mother, now would they? So you're one of Surtur's mooks." _

Surtur, Greek. Small-time celebrity, big-time criminal. One of _Scudo_'s most serious competitors.

_"If I had to guess…Mephisto's _decina_? Your face tells me that I'm right." _

Mephisto – liar, cheater, thief. Laufey once told him 'you two are cut from the same cloth, Chiaro. Watch your back.'

_"You messed with the wrong family, underling. I could have you hanged."_

Lie.

_" I could have you hogtied and quartered."_

Lie.

_" Would you like that? Or maybe you would like it better if I pulled you apart, bit by bit, and when all is left but your head and torso, stuff you in a barrel and fill it with acid. When they find you – if they were to find you – all they would find is a bucket of scum!" _

Loki raises his voice. He takes a step forward. The man takes a step back. Just a soldier. Loki can say what he wants.

_"I think that is what you want! Why else would you still have your fucking knife in my Mama's back, eh, bastard? Or maybe I'll follow you home, and slit all your children's throats in their sleep."_

Empty threat.

_" I've killed before, I can do it again and again and again and I wouldn't care."_

Lie.

_"My _capo_ loves me, you know. He thinks I'm the most darling thing he ever saw."_

Half-truth_. _

_" And if I didn't want to do it, he would."_

Lie?

_" Maybe you've heard of him – Wade Wilson."_

Half-truth. Something climbs up the man's back, something that looks and smells like fear. Wade Wilson is a monster, the most horrendous thing to walk the face of the planet. But not a Capo, oh no. Wilson is more than a Capo.

_ "Oh, I saw that shiver. You have heard of him, then! You must know he's a monster! And I'm a monster! We could both do you! We will cut you down the middle and to the side and pull your insides out while you still breathe! We'll make you eat yourself alive! _

_"So, if you have any fucking sense of self-preservation, any at all, you gonna drop that knife, turn around, and run as if your tiny little ass depends on it. Because it does." _

The performance is far from perfect, but Loki is but a child. He feels no guilt, none at all save that his family has to whiteness. ~

He relived the experience over and over again. It was something like playing chess with yourself in your mind. He learned from it. Don't be so quick to drop names, more foul language, less apathy. Be angry. That's how things get done.

It wasn't long before Thor came to his door, hands shaking, blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

"Couldn't sleep?"

"No." Thor looked away with guilt. Loki tapped the bed next to him and pulled down the covers. It felt as though it had been ages since the two last shared a bed, though it was in actuality only a little under four months. "I felt so useless today."

"That's not your fault, Thor. You were out of your element."

The blond sighed and wrapped and arm around his brother's shoulders. He pulled the child in close and pressed his cheek against a head of soft, black hair. "No brother, I felt _useless_. As if I were naught but a damsel. I want…oh God, I never thought I would say this, brother." He scraped the back of his head, letting his eyes wander. They looked everywhere but at Loki. "I want you to teach me Italian." Loki blinked. "And I want to join the Mafia."

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**A/N**: **Guess who reads Journey Into Mystery? I do! Guess who still hasnt finished _Everything Burns_? I havent! So don't spoil it :P I have the books, but no time to read them :( And yeah, Surtur and Mephisto arent even the same denomination (Fire giant v. devil) but I figured, hey fire. So yes. And hrm. Ah. Mmhmm. So, tell me what you think, if you have suggestions, or are itching for spoilers. I'd be happy to provide ;) R&R!**


	11. Chapter 10

**A/N: Another week, another chapter. This is porbably how its gonna role for a bit, considering I've got Mock Trial competition soon and a huge paper due just after that. Hope you enjoy :)**

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**Chapter 10 **

Loki didn't like to think of it as 'the Mafia". He called it as Don Laufey did, as Wade did, as Virginia did. It was _Scudo. _Protection. Safety. It was a family. A crime family, but still a family, and that was what mattered. He knew that not everyone saw in it what he did, but he also knew that was because not everyone had what he did.

_"Virginia, who is this that you bring to me?" _

_The redhead looked down, digging the tip of her toe into the spotted linoleum. "This is…Chiaro," Loki looked at her funny but made no move to correct her. "He's a friend. I thought, well, he likes to get into trouble, and I figured this would be the best place for him. You really helped Lieto, and I though you could help L – Chiaro too." _

_Laufey was a large, imposing man who's very presence demanded respect. "L – Chiaro, eh? Pepe, I don't think someone would name their child L – Chiaro." _

_Virginia had told Loki to keep quiet, that his silver tongue was likely to get them into more trouble than it would get them out of when it came to Laufey, but Loki couldn't stand aside while a beautiful dame floundered. "No sir, they wouldn't." He said softly taking a step forward. He bowed swiftly, a hand splayed against his chest. "I was born Chiaro, but it was changed when I came here." _

_Laufey laughed. It was a deep, rumbling sound that penetrated the sternum. "Ah, I see. America seems to think that "Larry" was a suitable replacement for "Laufey". I would assume they would change Chiaro to Charles or something equally detestable. Pray tell, what did they give you that starts wit an 'L'? Lucas?" _

_"Loki. My father chose it." _

_The Don's eyes narrowed, darting between the offending boy and the girl who brought him. "Your father. Only one names his offspring after the heathen gods of old. Pepe, why do you bring me a son of Odin?" _

_Virginia didn't seem to know what to say. Her face flushed red and she wrung her hands like rags. "I…I…he needs your help, Sir. I fear what m-may become of him if he's left to his own devices."_

_Laufey leaned back in his seat – Loki thought it a throne – and scratched his chin. It was smooth, but the motion was typical of one accustomed to facial hair. "He can burn. Let this be a lesson to his father." _

_"No!" _

_The man leaned forward, resting his face of a hand. "No? Tell me, girl, what use do you think I could have of a child poisoned by the prejudices of this sorry excuse for a culture?" He turned to face Loki. "Your father is the reason my family cannot leave this ghetto. Your father seems to think it more pertinent to ensure the assimilation of my people than to ensure their livelihoods. If you can't speak English, you can't get a job, you can't buy a house, you can't do nothing! Why should I help you?" _

_Loki's nose scruffed. He understood the conclusion as a dismissal, but, as unwilling as he was, Loki was not one to back down to a challenge, verbal or otherwise. "I am not my father." He said strongly, standing his ground. "I love him, and I am grateful to him for taking me in and raising me as his own, and I love the family I have, but I am not my father. I am Loki." _

_Laufey's eyes widened softly, perhaps expressing shock at such insolence in one so small, one so outmatched. "Where did you learn such big ideas, boy? Where are you from?" _

_"_Girgenta."

_At this, the old Don laughed. He rose from his seat. The lighting was poor, but Loki would later swear that the man's eyes looked red. "It's a small world, isn't it? _Girgenta_…a tiny, poor town. I know it. I was born there, lived there for twenty-five years, until I saved up enough for a ticket to America. I may have sown my seed once or twice…you're not the right age, I don't think, but who knows." He stepped closer, closer, pulled a finger down Loki's jaw and over his chin. "Who knows, eh?_

_"I don't like this idea, but you have something…moxie. That's it. And the last kid I almost turned away is my best assassin. So, prove your worth. Go…steal something for me. Prove you want this." _

_He didn't really, but he rose to the challenge. Stomping off as the insolent child he was, Loki made a plan which was executed flawlessly in a matter of minutes. He returned before the clock turned with pockets stuffed with police badges – seven in total. Laufey smiled appreciatively not at the quantity or prestige of the badges (pickpocketing is the lowest form of crime) but at the gall of the boy. Eight years old and stealing from cops. _

_"We'll see, boy. We'll see." _

He was accepted eventually, after copious hazing and pestering, as a prospect. Technically, he wasn't a member of the family yet, but that was more of a technicality than an obvious truth. He had proven his worth long ago.

_His _worth. And yes, he was worth something. He was small and cute and mostly harmless, and that was what lowered people's guards. Nobody expected a nine-year-old to be a spy, and those who did never expected the misfit son of Odin, the vertically-challenged niorette with skin like an angel, hair like a magpie, and eyes as green as grass on a hot summer day.

But Thor. Laufey understood that Loki's blood would always come before _Scudo,_ even if blood wasn't technically blood, but Laufey didn't like it. He did his best to remind Loki each and every time what a horrible person his father could be and what terrible morals he had instilled in his children. He accepted Loki because Loki was from _Girgenta_. Thor was Odin's birth-son.

But Loki could never say 'no' to Thor.

As they laid there in the dark, Loki placed a hand on Thor's chest.

" Fratello."

It was best to start with what was important.

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**A/N: Yay! Chapter's over. R&R per favore!**


	12. Chapter 11

**A/N: Well, this is a long time comming. Really, I am an awful person. I've had this typed up for a LONG time, but I've been avoiding fanfiction like the plague. I have so much work, and I'm so emotionally exhausted, I just...honestly, I just don't even know anymore. Everything hurts. Everything is a challenge. And I don't want to do this anymore. I'm almost done with the first bit of it, I keep telling myself, but there are four more years of this crazy, hectic, painful ordeal left before I can be considered a competent human being. It's quite disheartening. Anyway! You don't care about all that, you just want the story :p Here's your chapter. Expect the next one maybe Sunday, because my Mock Trial competition is this weekend and I may or may not be completely unprepared. ANYWAY! ONWARDS!**

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**Chapter 11**

It took Thor far longer to learn Italian than it took Loki to learn English, and much of it was done in the back alleys of the Italian ghetto. Cerrare's – which Thor had grown to love like a second home – proved to be the hub of his education.

Antonio was a crude, bigoted, cynical man. He had a right to be, after so many years of sickness and violence. His sister's illness killed what little capacity for happiness was left in him. She survived, thank God in heaven, but the family dynamic changed. Antonio took her son under his wing, swept away from a cheating, drunkard father and all his glorious fortune. The boy would never be safe from the public eye, but perhaps it would be best if he could spend a few years as a normal boy, as a poor boy, as his mother's son.

Thor took a shining to him. The boy, Anthony ("Please, call me Tony. Everyone does.) spoke as little Italian as Thor did, so it was nice to have another foreigner in the ghetto to talk to, even if it hindered his already painfully slow progress.

But learning happened. It was a painful re-education (in more than just language skills), but one both Thor and Loki were determined to endure.

"You're too big to pickpocket, brother. You're too stupid to swindle – no offence. You'd be best as a distraction. Or when you're bigger, as muscle."

Thor frowned. "Why? I am as swift and strong as you – we've grown to be like men! I could pick a pocket as well as you! I could steal an apple as well as you!"

Anger bubbled in his stomach. "No, you could not! You're a bumbling oaf, Thor! Your hands are far too big!"

The argument went on. Glass broke. Tables smashed. Thor did as he wished.

He was caught.

Loki used his savings to bribe the victim, then the police officer. Their father would not know, but now the ice beneath the first, golden Odinson was thin.

Thor did not fight back when Loki beat him within an inch of his life. He knew he had done something supremely stupid and he knew he deserved it. It was an eye-opening experience.

He hadn't known his brother had grown so strong.

Over a plate of Manicotti (_Mah-nah-gott_, Loki insisted, was the correct way to pronounce it), Tony and Loki groused. "_He's such an oaf!_" Loki needed the reassurance of his best language, even though Tony could hardly keep up. "_He thinks that because he is Odin's preferred child that he is everything in this organization that I am! He will never be me; I don't know why he doesn't just stop trying._"

It took Tony a minute to process the words. He fingered the premature stubble on his chin ("Twelve and shaving. Honestly!") and furrowed his brows. "_Ah, maybe…he just…he you want to be like you. Because, maybe, did you I want to be like her?_"

Tony's conjugations were so bad Loki often had a difficult time understanding him, but here the message came through clear. "_I did, when we were just boys. But now, I can be something more than his shadow. Why can't he just accept that?"_

The ricotta cheese was creamy in his mouth, the intermittent bites of sausage refreshing.

_"He…protect you, she want. Uh, he want. Understand…not why you not let protect_."

_"I_ _don't need to be protected! I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. And what does that have to do with his ability to pickpocket?"_

Tony fumbled with words. He tripped over them. He crushed them beneath his unsteady feet. Finally, he gave up. With a sigh, he began again in English.

"Loki, you're to take your _Omerta_ in three months. In three months, you have to kill someone. He's afraid he's gonna lose his brother. Do you really blame him for being a little protective? Maybe he thinks that if he can do what you can, you won't have to kill anyone."

"That's stupid."

"Maybe he thinks if he can do what you can do, you won't leave him behind." Tony wagged his eyebrows and forked some pasta into his mouth. Loki said nothing.

They finished their meal in silence. Loki had a report to make later that evening; Antonio handed him an envelope heavy with his protection money. Tony slapped him on the back.

"I'll talk to your brother, try to knock some sense into him. Do what you gotta do. Just…don't tell Pepper, alright?"

Loki blushed but nodded all the same.

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**A/N: Yeah yeah, long wait, short chapter. But let me tell you, chapter thirteen is a beast compared to what you've been getting, I promise. And twelve is pretty hefty too. So, the wait will be worth it, espeically when we hit the next arc. We're almost at the half-way mark!** **Please review and tell me what you think!**


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